


Animals Don’t Know Sin

by darkforetold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 18:29:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1236631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/pseuds/darkforetold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Urges. After Dean fulfilled his promise he wouldn't die a virgin, Castiel can't control them. He lusts. He <i>needs</i>—and only Dean can satisfy him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Animals Don’t Know Sin

_“I felt like an animal, and animals don’t know sin, do they?”_  
― Jess C. Scott

 

_Where is Michael's vessel? His brother, the abomination? They must be found!_

A chorus of voices answered on a frequency only angels could hear. His brothers and sisters had lost them, Sam and Dean. They were frantic as they were angry and vengeful, shouting orders at one another, arguing. When it reached its crescendo, when thrown blame had turned violent, the signal fizzled out like an old transistor radio. The voices returned not a moment later, then cut out. Back in. Gone completely. 

Interference.

Castiel narrowed his eyes at nothing and poked his head out of the alleyway. He didn't need to look down the dirty, desolate streets to know that nothing in Bethesda, Maryland had that kind of the power. The signal came in again as an old Buick zipped by, running a red light. Out once more when a Styrofoam cup kicked across the sidewalk in a sudden burst of life. Dark figures milled drunkenly around the entrance to a bar. A stray cat called out in the night. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that could've cut his connection to Heaven. Unless—

The clean air of Kinsley, Kansas' farmlands kissed his skin. 

—they had found him. He tried to tune in again. Horses neighed, but there were no voices. No violence or shouting. Just silence. The hot blood of Sacramento, California yielded the same nothing. None of his brothers and sisters had discerned his whereabouts nor had they somehow interrupted his signal. His first instinct was to report to Dean. Any change, minor or not, was important at this stage. Lucifer was walking the Earth, circling Sam, and Dean was a simple yes away from becoming Michael's vessel. Timing and information was crucial. The thought of Dean—would he find him in the middle of a hunt? Or perhaps in a motel, naked under the blankets?—clued him in almost immediately. He had solved his own mystery.

The interference was him. Himself. More specifically, his body.

Castiel frowned, stepped into another alley, and looked down. The line of his slacks bulged, unbearably hot with an urge that sparked and raged like a fire across his body. He exhaled hard through his nose. Irritating, this constant need for human contact, woken up by the man who swore he wouldn't die a virgin. After they had dealt with Raphael that night, elated they had lived through the encounter, Dean... fulfilled his promise. Images of them entwined, spread over the Impala's hood—Castiel took in a slow, deep breath. It was enough to settle his erratic heartbeat, but did nothing to stop the growing thickness between his legs. His body's interference—this agitating _need_ —it was all over his skin, stripping him down to humanity's basic instincts. His angelic identity, his heavenly glory—gone. Every iota that made him angel; a being to be feared, loved, worshiped—stolen from him. In those moments, under its effects, he was nothing but an animal bent on sex.

He clenched his jaw and fisted his hands. It was raw and uninhibited, this need. Insulting. Exhilarating. He loved it. Hated it. It was a fire burning in him. A beast that had fangs and was ravenous. He would try to go to Dean, but knew he couldn't. Didn't know where to find him. The runes on his ribs—they had been a stroke of pure genius and a pendulum of stupidity at the same time. Disorientated, he stumbled out into the sidewalk. Someone shouldered into him and muttered an apology. Another someone weaved around him, but not enough, and bumped his arm. Every brush with humanity made his skin ache. Made the need stronger, made him more irritated. 

With a growl, he slipped his hand into his trenchcoat and pulled out the cell phone. Texted a single space—nothing more—to Dean's number and followed the signal.

:::

The back seat of the Impala replaced Sacramento's sprawling city line. Soft rock music drifted in from the radio, and Sam and Bobby spoke heavily about life, the hunt, and those they had lost along the way—too entrenched in their conversation to notice him. Outside the windows, darkness rolled by. Somewhere rural, then. The forms of trees were barely visible, nothing but deep blackness out the rear window. Not even the moon to light their way. Moonlight would've looked beautiful on Dean's sleeping face—an errant thought that made Castiel lean back and simply watch him. He enjoyed the even rise and fall of his chest, the rhythmic sound of his breathing. It dulled the urge to ruin him, to take him somewhere, anywhere, and tear him apart with his sexual need. Spread him open wide until he begged for forgiveness. His groin hardened even more and he frowned. Dean wouldn't survive the encounter, couldn't possibly take all the unbridled passion and lust an angel possessed. Not even a third of it in his current condition. Exhaustion rolled off Dean in waves, his muscles tighter than iron coils. Distress and nightmares twitched under his eyelids. Scratches covered his arms. Along with Dean, Sam and Bobby, he should be concentrating on finding Lucifer and stopping the Apocalypse. But he wasn't and he didn't care.

Castiel reached across the seat for the button on Dean's jeans. He would be merciful this time. Gentle instead of savage. He would give, not take. Although Dean deserved to be rough-handled for making him feel this way, for waking something in him that should've slept forever, he would forgive. Dean didn't want forgiveness it seemed. A hand shot out immediately, fingers tight on his wrist like an iron vice. So tight that, had he been human, it would've hurt. Violence was still in him when Dean glared at him, left over from wherever they'd come from, whatever horrors they'd seen. When Dean noticed him, really noticed him, his grip relaxed. They stared at each other in the dark, each raising questions and answering none. Castiel tried for the button again and earned a tight, halting squeeze. Dean gave him a pointed look, then glanced to Bobby and Sam. His eyes returned to him. _No_ was written all over his face. Castiel frowned deeply. That wasn't the answer he wanted. As hushed music and life's epiphanies softened the air around them, they stared, their eyes hard. Two warriors on opposing sides.

Dean broke eye contact first. Green eyes searched the dark, dropping down to the protrusion in his lap. Castiel heaved quietly under his scrutiny. Anticipation slipped over his skin. He needed whatever Dean would give him, no matter how small. When Dean let out a sigh, Castiel tensed because it sounded like surrender. It was. Dean acquiesced with a rolling hand gesture. But when he tried for the button on his jeans again, Dean slapped his hand away. Castiel couldn't growl out his frustrations before Dean grabbed _his_ belt, unbuckling it, popped open the button and zipped down his slacks. Dean began to lower his head toward his lap. Greedy, Castiel grabbed the back of his neck and forced him down. The only response was a grunt.

He didn't have to wait long. Dean took him in completely, his lips tight, his mouth warm and wet. Worked him with his tongue, sucked with everything he had. Castiel clenched his jaw and let his head loll back. His groan rumbled and died quietly in his chest. Sam and Bobby—none the wiser. As Dean bobbed on his cock with vigor, Castiel tangled fingers in his short hair. Gripping him, keeping him down. Dean wanted to please, always had despite his tough exterior, even if it was at his own expense. This time proved no different. Overzealous, Dean gagged on him yet persisted, choked again, a third time, before he tried to come up for air. Castiel wouldn't let him. He held him steady and it earned him fingernails deep into his hips—a small price to pay for luxury.

Despite the roughness, Dean didn't stop. He sucked cock hard, eager, with saliva dripping down the corners of his lips. Cool against his skin, Dean's saliva, pooling at the base of his shaft; an offset to the heat they made together. Castiel rocked his hips up into his mouth, needing much more than Dean was giving him. Fingers dug into his skin again, but he ignored it. What was pain to an angel? 

What was restraint?

Castiel pulled Dean's hair while his other hand held him down at the neck. He snapped his hips up over and over, taking, taking, taking. The vengeful angel in him surged. _He_ was the reason his body hungered for this and _he_ would suffer the consequences. Dean tensed immediately, then simply relaxed his jaw, letting him fuck his mouth with no complaints. The wet, even slide of his cock between those lips, his submissiveness—Castiel swallowed down another groan. The head of him hit the back of Dean's throat. Twice. Again. His legs quaked. His breathing nothing but laborious puffs. He didn't groan again, not audibly—couldn't—but if he had, it would've shaken the world to its core. Ripped at the seams of time and space.

This interference, this need... it was almost over. Nearly sated.

Castiel shot out a breath as the pressure in his body built. Dean was a slave to his thrusts, taking each one with hard, piercing fingernails. When he came, groaning above the music, Dean could barely swallowed it, sputtered, and almost choked. Around them, Bobby and Sam sprang to sudden life.

"What in the hell are—"

"Cas? Oh, holy shit, Dean!" 

Dean whipped up and back, plastering himself against his window, wiping his mouth. Castiel grabbed the collar of his coat and pulled him in again. Complaints from Sam and Bobby continued, barely audible over the rush of the heartbeat in his ears. They kissed and Castiel tasted himself on Dean's tongue, salty and heady. The car jerked to one side and gravel crunched. Sam had pulled over. 

That same tight grip, the one that told him no, clamped down on his wrist. While Sam and Bobby leapt out of the car, grumbling and shouting, Castiel pinned Dean up against the window. Hard. Took what he wanted. He ripped the button off, unzipped, and shoved his hand into Dean's jeans. Burning, naked skin met his fingertips. The tip of Dean's cock was wet and willing, and Dean stopped struggling. Kisses weren't stolen anymore, but given, and Castiel eased into them. Dean rocked his hips up into his tight fist, trembling as his body... gave up. His orgasm erupted out of him, come thick and hot all over his skin—and Castiel left him like that, spent and satisfied, a touch violated, with the flap of great mighty wings. With him, the animal he had become.


End file.
